


stop the world (cause i wanna)

by samimnot



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Face-Fucking, Louis is miley cyrus, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Riding, Rimming, The World Will Never Know, Unhealthy Relationships, is this hate sex???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samimnot/pseuds/samimnot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Maybe he feels brave, the champagne bubbling in his stomach and the eight ball of coke burning a hole in his pocket and Louis staring up at him with a mix of hatred and reverence in his eyes, pink mouth agape. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>[or an au where Louis is Miley Cyrus & Harry's his indie rocker, and neither of them want to talk about it.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	stop the world (cause i wanna)

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt: Louis Tomlinson is the Miley Cyrus of the celebrity world  
> Hope you like it homie this is literally PWP ha hah ha 
> 
> disclaimer: yah i don't anyone or anything, never snorted cocaine before and do not recommend it...
> 
> ps s/o to my beta for not murdering me <3  
> also s/o for the prompt i might want to continue this for ya.... hMMM
> 
> i'd love to know what you think and i really hope you like it!!!

Louis puts up a pretty good façade, Harry thinks. He’s pretty sure the words _inconspicuous_ and _discreet_ mean nothing to him anymore, except for maybe when it comes to Harry. That’s why he’s walking ten feet behind Louis’ tempting figure, illuminated by the dim lights of the hotel’s hallway.

 

Harry nearly laughs, because only Louis could strip down on national television, grind up against a _married_ man until he’s looking just as debauched as the viewer feels, breathless with a dirty smile, then turn mainstream American media on its fucking head over a less than twenty minute performance. But when it comes to Harry, its whispers and drunk texts when they’re in the same city with the fleeting possibility of something more before he comes running, not walking, to wherever Louis is. So yeah, he thinks, it is funny, but he’s the butt of the joke.

 

He shakes his head and squares his shoulders, catching up to Louis as he stops in front of the door, clumsily fumbling with the lock. Harry spares a look down the hallway, for the purpose of appearances really, because if he’s honest with himself it’s obvious that there’s not much that can keep him away from what he wants; not when it’s been this long and not when he’s this drunk. It’s the first time he’s seen Louis in awhile, since their last rendezvous in LA, where they holed up in his penthouse for a week. There was nonstop fucking and drinking and passing out, only to do it again the second they regained consciousness. They laid on rumpled sheets after disabling the fire alarm, smoking up and taking turns making jokes in regards to the headlines about their ‘breakup’; how the media speculated that it sent Louis reeling, ‘insiders’ saying he was so heart broken that he began a new chapter of rebellion. Louis had laughed at that, had laughed even harder at the idea of being _heart broken_ , before standing on top of the bed with a bottle of red wine clutched loosely in his fist, taking swigs and announcing to the only other person in the room that he was _twenty fucking years old_ now, and could do _whatever he god damn pleased_. Harry pulled him down, giggling even as droplets of spilled wine fell on his chest, staining his pale skin and the bed below him. The room was fucking spinning all around him and he had never felt more free in his life, and he wasn’t so sure the whole bottle of pills they had gone through that morning were responsible. Apparently laughing was the wrong thing to do, all he remembers is Louis plopping right down on his lap and slapping him up a bit, yelling at him, calling him _pretentious_ and _condescending_ and a _fucking idiot_. Harry just smiled, beaming actually, right back at him, waiting out his tirade for the fuck he knew was coming after; merciless and sweaty and so, _so_ good.

 

Louis left the next morning without saying goodbye, leaving Harry strung out and alone in his apartment. He looked for a note, something other than a quiet house and a heavy heart, to prove to himself that Louis actually had actually been here. But from the second he saw Louis tonight, two months later, he was ready to do it all over again. For the entire duration of the label company’s gala, his fingers subconsciously itched for a cigarette or his notebook. It was odd for Harry, someone who likes neat lines and perfectly square boxes, to be unable to tell where he stood. He assured himself, in the elevator, that he was pissed. Or inspired.

 

He never could really tell with Louis.

 

After a whole night of wayward glances and sucking on straws, his feelings don’t matter, because he can’t keep his hands to himself. There’s a sick sort of vindication he feels when Louis’ breath hitches as Harry wraps his body around him, one arm sliding around his waist to hold him flush against the front of his chest, breathing down the curve of his neck. Louis tenses as Harry strokes his way down his arm, past the rolled up sleeves of his white oxford, before snatching up the key card and unlocking the door.

 

“After you, princess,” Harry smirks, pushing the door open with one hand. He forgot how he towers over Louis, it makes him a bit smug.

 

“Still a fuckin’ prick, I see,” Louis deadpans as he steps in the room, kicking his shoes off and immediately unfastening the buttons on his shirt. With a sneaked glance he finds new tattoos on Louis’ fit little body, and _god_ does he want to explore them all, up close and with his mouth until they turn a new shade of purple. “That’s the problem with you moody artistic types.”

 

“And yet, you still want to fuck me,” Harry shoots back, leaning heavily against the closed door. He sticks out his chin, puffs his chest up a bit. He doesn’t mean to be awful to Louis, he really doesn’t. It’s just that Louis bites, he digs in with his words and his apathetic attitude. It’s all a game to him really, and Harry is determined not to lose. “America’s wild child, gagging for it-”

 

Louis spins around, walking towards the door with a swing in his hips and a predatory look in his eye. He snags Harry’s belt loops, before pushing him back against the door. The collision makes a pathetic sound in the quiet of the suite.

 

“Did you see my show the other night?” Louis whispers, barely audible over the pounding of Harry’s heart in his ears or the sound of his shallow breath. They’ve hardly begun and he’s already so fucking easy for him, _so fucking easy_ and he hates himself for it. He grits his teeth as Louis drags his hand down his chest before sliding down to feel him over his jeans, half hard since they arrived at the hotel. “Did you see what I was wearing?”

 

“Yeah,” he responds, turning off the voice in his brain advocating resistance, pulling the slighter boy against his body. Their foreheads touch, their words hang in the space between their eager lips. His hands run greedily down his back, before stopping at his arse and giving it a squeeze. “God yeah, you looked fucking incredible.”

 

“Oh really?” Louis looks up at him coy, blinking with wide, wild eyes, lip between his teeth. His hands run up the smooth skin of Harry’s chest, pushing his open button down farther back on his broad shoulders. There’s a thud as Harry throws his head back against the door, just as Louis lays a gentle kiss right between the swallows on his chest. His hands make their way down, further, further, and his hips buck up on their own accord when Louis reaches the button of his jeans. He gets lost savouring the attention, because it feels so fucking good, having someone touch him like this. Louis, who takes his time working him up, even though it’s obvious he’s already raring to go. 

It’s always a slow burn and Harry has accepted this. It’s the only kind they know, and the only kind that hurts.

 

“I was thinking, you know,” as he makes quick work of Harry’s button. He screws his eyes shut as nimble fingers undo his fly, fingertips skimming over the ink on his belly and running back down. “That maybe, I’d keep it- the outfit,” is whispered against Harry’s throat, as if it was some big secret, as if he didn’t dance half naked for millions of people to see, on national television. “And I’d, I’d dress up for you, put on a show for you,” and there goes Harry’s belt, as Louis drops to his knees. “Do you think you that’s something you’d like?”

 

Harry just groans, deep within his chest, nearly squirming out of his skin at the idea of it all. Watching Louis onstage, like some sort of foreplay, teasing and pushing the boundaries, what he can get away with. No matter how bratty he gets, at the end of the night it’s Harry he’s on his knees for, seeing what everyone can only imagine.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Louis laughs and makes moves to continue, but on a wild impulse, Harry grabs his hair. It’s more of a yank, really, and he doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe he feels brave, the champagne bubbling in his stomach and the eight ball of coke burning a hole in his pocket and Louis staring up at him with a mix of hatred and reverence in his eyes, pink mouth agape. Harry tilts his head back a little more, grinning manically as he runs his thumb over Louis’ bottom lip. There’s a moment where he attempts to close his mouth, suck his fingers in like Harry knows he’s dying to do. Instead, Harry jerks instinctively, pulling Louis’ hair with him. He nearly gasps out loud, but Louis breaks first, letting out a low sound.

 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Harry murmurs, locking eyes with the boy at his feet. The dull sound of the heartbeat in his head is picking up now, thumping like he’s just had a line. He doesn’t know where he’s going with this, can hardly believe the words coming out of his own mouth. Louis just looks up, defiance leaving his eyes as he sinks back onto his heels. His face is open, clinging on to every word Harry says, gorgeous and panting with a hot blush high on his cheeks.

 

“You’re gonna suck me off,” he says, grinding his hips up against Louis’ face, watching him tense up and open his mouth, a choked off noise escaping. “And then you’re gonna ride me. Got it?”

 

He nods down at Louis, who seems to fall from his reverie abruptly, startling right back to the task at hand once Harry loosens his fingers in his hair. Louis yanks down his briefs, running his fingers down Harry’s thighs and leaving feather soft kisses in their wake. Harry tries vehemently to maintain eye contact, because he _thinks_ he’s the one in control here, but when it comes to Louis he never _really_ knows. The way his blue eyes meet his gaze, unflinching even as he pulls Harry’s dick out, makes him feel less sure. Louis only gives it a few good strokes before Harry allows himself to exhale shakily. By the time he tightens his grip in Louis’ hair he knows he’s nearing the precipice, his threshold of control nearing its limit, set into fast forward with the constant chant of _Louis_. He wants everything, fuck the whole god damn night if they have to, wants them sweating and sated by the end of it all, to remind themselves why they only do this and nothing more.

 

He pushes his hips out a bit, nudging the head of his cock against Louis’ cheek as he tries to follow it with his tongue. A bit of precum sticks and Harry carefully swipes it off on his thumb, feeding it into Louis’ mouth as he takes it hungrily, eyes fluttering closed. Harry can only groan at the suction, more eager for it now more than ever. He’s never had Louis like this, usually he’s the one being bossed around, pushed down on the bed to be used at Louis’ pleasure and to just enjoy what he’s given. His hips buck up again, to get Louis to stop fucking around and _suck him off already, christ_ and his eyes roll back as Louis takes him into the hot, wet heat of his mouth.

 

Louis stares up at him as he takes him further into his mouth, eyes watery and lips stretched, and Harry reaches out to him to feel the outline of his cock rub against Louis’ cheek. Louis’ hands are busy, working over the base of his dick as he pulls off, the slick sounds of his hand working Harry over loud as he presses his lips to Harry’s balls. Harry tries desperately to stay standing up, leaning heavily against the door at his back and feeling his knees buckle slightly as Louis sinks down on his cock again. His hand scrabbles for the door knob, or just _something_ to hold onto as he feels himself blurting precum in the back of Louis’ throat, grip going white knuckled as he watches Louis swallow it down without hesitation. Louis’ hand leaves Harry’s thigh to reach out for his hand, bringing it to tangle in his soft brown hair and meeting his stare with a small nod.

 

They’ve only done this a few times, but god does Harry love it. He would bet Louis does too, not that he would ever admit it. It’s so fucking loud, that someone walking by could probably hear it and know exactly what’s going on; between the unfiltered sounds escaping from his own mouth and the telltale wet slurping as he fucks into Louis’ mouth. Louis just has to take it at Harry’s pace even though he’s dying to take him all in, eyes red as Harry hits the back of his throat and still groaning for more. Harry shuts his eyes as he holds Louis down on his cock, hissing as Louis digs his fingers into the sensitive skin of his tattooed hips.

 

“God- fuck, _fuck_ , get off I’m gonna come,” Harry barely manages to say, breathless as Louis comes up but continues to suck at the head of his cock, lapping his tongue against the slit. He pushes at the boy’s shoulders, the force sitting him back on his calves before he licks his lips with a satisfied smile. He doesn’t say anything, but the smug look on his face speaks volumes.

 

He pushes Louis back, with a growl of _get on the fucking bed_ , before they’re both scrambling to the made up king sized mattress. If Harry weren’t so turned on, the persistent throb of his cock a not so subtle reminder, he would have laughed at them tripping towards the bed, trying to shuck the remaining articles of clothes off their bodies in the heat of the moment.

The next time he glances up, he sees Louis sprawled out on the bed, stroking himself slowly as he watches Harry step out of his jeans. Harry flushes red at being observed, feels as young as twenty could be, still self conscious even though he _knows_ his body is hard lines and firm muscle and tattoos. He fumbles with his jeans for another second, brain in a sex haze as he pulls out a packet of lube from his pocket, and out falls the baggie holding his coke.

 

“Predictable,” is all Louis has to say, with a raised eyebrow. He’s still just lying there, like he belongs. It’s the moonlight coming in from the window that gives him that glint to his eye and a soft light on his whole body.

 

“Do you wanna?” Harry murmurs, looking down at his hands. His fingers itch, for a cigarette, for Louis’ body; he wills them to stay still. Louis just nods at him, thank god, because Harry feels so out of his fucking depth.

 

“Bring a benjamin, let’s do this like proper rockstars,” Louis says softly, and Harry roots around for his wallet until he pulls out a hundred and the key card. He takes a deep breath walks over to the bed, going easily when Louis tugs him onto the mattress.

 

The previous tension in the room fades as they examine each other up close, breathing lightly against each other’s closed mouths; the same familiar face like a real hello this time. It’s like this when they’re sober- quiet, soft. Harry can’t stop himself as he leaves little kisses on Louis’ cute nose and the cut of his cheekbones, one right on his forehead before going to his lips. Harry thinks this feels a bit like forever, but knows it’s not. He licks into Louis’ mouth, gently grabbing Louis’ waist and chasing the feeling of his soft skin on his callused palm. They kiss noisily, lazily, rolling around on the duvet and knocking the pillows to the floor. When it begins to heat up, grinding and whimpers and Louis pinning him down to the bed, Harry notes that there’s a shift in the room, back to the tense atmosphere. One with a purpose.

 

Louis snatches the eight ball and the card by Harry’s side, giggling deliriously as he begins to open the bag.

 

“You know what we should do,” Louis pauses to whisper right in Harry’s ear. His cock is suddenly interested as Louis grinds back against him, but when he begins to squirm Louis grabs his wrist. His nails dig in as he begins to speak, “We should make a fucking sex tape.”

 

Harry is almost embarrassed by the noise the comes out of his mouth, but even a man stronger than Harry couldn’t resist the temptation that Louis presents. His whole body tenses as Louis drags his teeth down the column of his throat, getting to the base before sucking a bruise and mumbling into his skin, “We could leak it, pretend it was an accident.”

 

“ _Louis_ ,” is the only word that leaves Harry’s lips, one that gets Louis laughing as he sits back up, careful to grind back on Harry’s leaking cock again.

 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he sneers, before dumping out some powder on Harry’s chest. Harry keeps his arms above his head, even though Louis isn’t holding him down anymore. He doesn’t move, barely even breathes as Louis makes three lines, before rolling up the bill in his clammy hand and snorting one right up. Harry waits patiently as he rubs his nose, chasing the itch, and then does the next line in quick succession. It lights him up from the inside out, radiating manic energy that Harry can feel. He opens his mouth to tell Louis to hurry up and finish the last one, before there’s a finger in his mouth, rubbing white on his gums. And it’s like that, over and over, sucking the last of the residue off Louis’ thumb before he accepts more.

 

It’s not a feeling anymore, it’s a compulsion to touch, a _need_ to touch, one Harry is always worse at denying himself when his limbs feel electric and his head is on another fucking level. He sits up and pulls Louis closer on his lap, biting at his neck to fulfill his need to be doing something, spurred on by how Louis is clutching at his hair. He needs to come, has for the last half an hour. Louis is whimpering into his shoulder, and it takes Harry a minute to realize that he has already begun to finger himself. Harry props himself against the headboard, watching Louis ride his own two fingers, biting his lip or shuddering occasionally. He knows he could do it better, make it _really_ good, so Louis is panting and begging for more, but he’s content to just observe; relishing the burn in the back of his throat and the moans Louis doesn’t even know he’s making. He makes a pretty picture, Harry thinks, as he runs his hands up Louis’ slightly sticky sides, carding his fingers through his sweaty hair. Louis loves to perform, no matter what he’s doing.

 

His hands travel lower, grabbing at his arse and maybe slipping in a dry finger or two next to Louis’, feeling the tight heat he’s about to be in, _bare_. The thought crosses his mind and suddenly he’s mad with it, thrusting his hips up while Louis reprimands him, _patience_. But he can’t wait anymore, and he grumbles that against Louis’ neck before he starts biting at the ink on his chest. Then he’s getting pushed back and it’s comparable to the feeling of falling, until the back of his neck thumps against the headboard. It’s a blur between the moment Louis reminds him _not to touch_ and the moment he feels his cock finally inside him.

 

Louis has a loose hold on his wrists as he slowly starts working himself back onto Harry’s dick, before he drops them and starts touching his own body, and Harry watches open mouthed as he makes himself moan, tweaking his nipples and teasing himself painfully slowly. Harry doesn’t think he can focus on anything _but_ Louis at the moment, all his senses on edge and nearly burning at the stimulation. Harry opens his mouth but Louis cuts him off, with a forceful kiss with sloppy teeth and tongues, but it briefly evolves into an echo of earlier, soft knowing kisses, before they break apart and pant against each others red cheeks.

 

If Louis gets tired, he doesn’t show it; riding Harry steadily so that the sheets ruck up beneath them, the eight ball long forgotten, spilled on the carpet beside the bed. He occasionally punctuates Louis’ rhythm with a quick upward thrust of his hips, rewarded by the delicious feeling of Louis clenching down on his cock and the way his eyes flutter closed when Harry hits the right spot.

It happens too fast, it always does, the impending feeling of his orgasm perking up every part of his strung out body. His hands spring into action, grabbing Louis and forcing the other boy still as he pounds into him. It’s too much for Louis apparently, he crumples in on himself as Harry uses his body, breathing heavily and whimpering right against Harry’s ear. Harry desperately clutches at the sheets, at Louis, at whatever is nearby as he starts to come; gasping as Louis keeps bouncing on his dick before he pushes him off, too oversensitive and fucking electric to even think before he’s pushing Louis down on his back. He spreads Louis’ legs, hearing Louis let out a weak mewl as he presses a finger into the mess between his spread thighs, then nearly fucking scream as he licks over it. He’s still reeling from coming and the coke and _Louis_ that he doesn’t fucking stop, keeps licking and prodding at his hole with his tongue even as Louis begins to lose his voice; breaking on his chant of Harry’s name like he’s about to cry.

 

He doesn’t stop even when he knows Louis has come, hot and wet all over his stomach and up his chest, whining and shaking like a leaf as Harry mercilessly licks him out. He only stops when Louis tugs at a fistful of his hair, meeting Louis’ dazed stare as he sits up and wipes his hand over his wet mouth, with a smug smile.

 

“You’re a fucking- you’re a fucking-” Louis attempts, before giving up and letting his head fall against the pillow with a loud sigh.

 

“I know,” Harry giggles as he climbs up the bed, wrapping himself around Louis’ body. He finds peace in noticing both of their hearts racing, kissing up Louis’ neck and behind his ear before Louis half heartedly shoves him away.

 

“C’mon- c’mon be nice. Gimme a kiss,” Harry pleads, still high enough that he persists in pressing kisses to all the places he can reach even as Louis giggles and tries to wiggle away. Exhaling a long suffering breath, Louis finally indulges him with a chaste peck on his lips, but before Harry can receive any more, Louis is turning away from him into, face into the pillow.

 

“You know I’m going to be gone tomorrow,” he says just loud enough so that Harry can hear it, muffled by the pillow. And that, well that sobers Harry up quite a bit, the racing heart in his chest slowing to a disappointing crawl. He buries his face against the back of Louis’ neck and doesn’t reply, pulls the crumpled sheet over the two of them and settles in to spoon Louis. They lie there for awhile, coming down from their highs, letting their breathing even out. When he thinks Louis is asleep, he finally lets himself answer.

 

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, brushing the hair from the nape of Louis’ neck and pressing a soft kiss against a knob of his spine. “We’ll be okay.”


End file.
